


Challenge

by flyingllamas



Series: Tales from a lifetime ago (and ones to never be) [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Aethas is an angel, Gen, Kael'thas will fight Halduron if he disagrees with that, M/M, Rommath's generally insecure, and Lor'themar doesn't deserve this for once, mostly cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 02:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingllamas/pseuds/flyingllamas
Summary: Rommath wondered if it was merely a game to him, like a fox chasing a hare, or if Lor’themar’s interest was truly genuine. Hardly anyone looked his way, particularly those who knew of the scars about his neck, and those that did usually had more interest in the coin in his purse than his actual company.





	Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for theme #74, "Are you challenging me?"
> 
> Loosely beta'd by Kangoo and Hunterx700.
> 
> Takes place several hundred years before canon.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is llamastheflying.tumblr.com if you wanna hit me up with any questions or complaints.

It started as an off-handed comment from Kael’thas, because _of course it did._

 

The comment came on the day that Rommath finally found time in his busy schedule to have lunch with the boys when they took a break from their training (he really was busy, it wasn’t because he was avoiding that fool Lor’themar) after the boys had begged and begged him to come see their progress.

 

When he arrived, basket under his arm, the boys were still going through their forms. None of them noticed his arrival, though one of Lor’themar’s ears flicked back towards him as he stepped through the portal. He looked over his shoulder and eyed Rommath in a way that was entirely inappropriate and gave him a sly smile. Rommath only shot him a glare in return as he settled in the shade of one of the few trees of the practice yard.

 

He had been better about keeping his flirtations to private interactions between them and not in front of the boys, but sometimes still did things that had Rommath nearly hissing like a cat. Rommath never reciprocated, but neither did he stop Lor’themar. He knew, if he drew a line in the sand, that Lor’themar would never cross it again. He’d seen as much at night in Murder Row as he sat in the corner of a dingy tavern, sipping at some light-awful ale and _not_ watching Lor’themar attempt to fish up company for the night.

 

When his affections were spurned Lor’themar immediately moved on, but that wasn’t often. What usually happened was Lor’themar nearly melding to his companion’s side as he whispered things, _promises_ into their ears that made whatever poor elf he targeted turn bright red before both disappeared for the night. Consequently, the tips of Rommath’s ears would flush just watching them, until the heat crawled down and under the cover of his collar into the scarred skin of his neck and chest.

 

Lor’themar had caught him once and seemed shocked to see him. Whatever honey dripped from his lips and tongue into his partner’s ear stopped suddenly when they locked eyes across the busy tavern. Lor’themar excused himself from his partner and got up to approach him, but Rommath hurriedly threw back the rest of his drink and fled from the tavern.

 

Curiously, the week following, and those after, Lor’themar was nowhere to be found in the bars. The flirtations did not cease despite Lor’themar’s disappearance. In contrast, they increased. Lor’themar found him in the palace when reporting to the Ranger General and King, or out and about in the market, or simply in the quiet corners of the palace. No more did Rommath have to wonder how Lor’themar’s lips felt on his ears as he whispered lewd suggestions, nor did he need to ponder the heavy warmth of Lor’themar’s body as it was draped over him. Still, he shoved Lor’themar off, usually storming away if he was able to, quietly glaring if he was not.

 

Still he did not stop it.

 

It was flattering, in a way, to be flirted with by someone like Lor’themar, so he allowed Lor’themar’s game to continue. He knew Lor’themar, too, realized on some level that his attentions were allowed for that reason, but still he persisted. Rommath wondered if it was merely a game to him, like a fox chasing a hare, or if Lor’themar’s interest was truly genuine.

 

He would not be surprised if it were not. Rommath was acutely aware of how low-class he was regarded in the eyes of Silvermoon’s elite: the son of a nameless farming family, only allowed into the palace by grace of his magic and of King Anasterian. Hardly anyone looked his way, particularly those who knew of the scars about his neck, and those that did usually had more interest in the coin in his purse than his actual company. It hurt, and continued to ache like an arrow piercing his side, especially when Lor’themar whispered honeyed compliments into his ears. Still, he let their game continue.

 

Rommath was pulled from his thoughts by Aethas settling in closely to his side. The boy’s attachment to him was concerning but not unfounded, for there was little else for him in this world save for himself, Kael’thas, and his kingly uncle-by-marriage, so Rommath allowed it. He missed his own siblings, so close in age to both Aethas and Kael’thas. Both boys, even the hellion that Kael’thas was, helped soothe the hole left behind in their absence.

 

“You came!” he said as Kael’thas sat down on Rommath’s other side, offering no greeting to their caretaker. If the cross look on the prince’s face was anything to go by, he was beginning to feel grumpy from hunger. Rommath let his rudeness go, instead reaching in the basket to feel around.

 

“I did,” he said. He offered Kael’thas an apple, which was gladly snatched from his hands. “I did get to see some of the forms Lor’themar has you working on and I can see the rest after you eat. I am glad to see he is not slacking off in his duties.”

 

“Don’t be souring my students’ opinions of me now, Arcanist Rommath,” Lor’themar said as he sat down across from him, Halduron joining him. The young Brightwing made attempt to snatch Kael’thas’ apple away from him and was rewarded with a snarl full of fangs a result. “I do rather like having them cooperate with me.”

 

“I doubt I’ll have to say much for them to form the same opinion of you that I have,” said Rommath icily as he began to fully unpack the basket.

 

“And whatever could that be? That I’m dashing? Handsome? Ever victorious in a fight?” The boys seemed to be ignoring their conversation, fixated entirely on the food in Rommath’s hands. From his experience, neither Aethas nor Kael’thas were particularly talkative around meal times until food found its way into their stomachs and he assumed Halduron was much the same way.

 

“Perhaps the opposite of all that, considering our last fight,” said Rommath as he passed around enough food for the boys, but not for Lor’themar. He bit back a smile as Lor’themar gave him a look rather like a kicked puppy as he took a bite out of the fresh bread the kitchens sent with him.

 

“You didn’t bring me food? How cruel!”

 

“Why would I ever want to encourage a pest?” Rommath said, before pulling out the last of the food from the basket. “A shame. It appears we have extra today. Should I really let you eat our scraps though? I don’t think a wretch like you is fit for such kingly food.”

 

Lor’themar nearly whined as his stomach grumbled and Rommath let out a barking laugh. He held out the food to Lor’themar who eagerly accepted it, but not before running his fingers over Rommath’s wrists in a way that made him shiver. Rommath resisted to urge to punch the ranger when he was treated with a knowing grin. Thankfully, nothing was aid and their small group fell into silence for as much time as it took the hellish gleam to return to Kael’thas’ eyes.

 

“Did you say you guys fought before?” he asked not moments after finishing chewing his final bit of fruit. “When? Did Lor’themar really win?”

 

Lor’themar and Rommath traded a look, silently agreeing that this line of questioning was going nowhere good.

 

“We did,” said Lor’themar. “It was a result of a...mistake. I won, though.”

 

In retrospect, Rommath thought, they should have stopped there.

 

Rommath scoffed and said, “Barely.”

 

“Whose face was on the ground in the dirt?”

 

“Who got flipped three times before they managed to pin me?”

 

“I did pin you in the end though! You conceded to me!”

 

“If you’re so uncertain about who was the rightful victor, then maybe you should fight again!” suggested Kael’thas. There was a look in his eye that suggested nothing but mischief and a desire to see Rommath humiliated. Prince he may be, but he was also a child and not above common tomfoolery to get a good laugh.

 

Halduron seemed to also be keen on the idea of the two older elves brawling. Aethas looked worried, as he always did when something was out of the norm.

 

“No,” Rommath snapped. Lor’themar quirked an eyebrow at him, but Rommath ignored him. “Nothing would be achieved from a childish squabble.”

 

Kael’thas groaned in disappointment, but Lor’themar leaned over to murmur into Rommath’s ear.

 

“Perhaps we can settle that matter later,” he said and Rommath schooled his face into indifference as Lor’themar’s taunt inevitably turned filthy. “I rather liked having you beneath me.”

 

“Or, we could settle it now.” Rommath shoved him back, taking Lor’themar by surprise. The other elf landed on his back. “When will you learn not to fall for that?” he asked and dropped a gravity-dense arcane construct on top of the ranger’s chest as Lor’themar tried to scramble to his feet.

 

“This is cheating,” Lor’themar said, voice strained from the heavy weight upon his chest.

 

“Is it?” Rommath asked blithely. “I don’t recall there being any rules.”

 

“Rommath…” It was a half growl, half plea. Rommath smiled behind his collar, dipping his head out of habit. Kael’thas seemed disappointed, probably due to both the shortness of the conflict and the rather humiliating outcome for Lor’themar.

 

“Do not attempt to undermine me in front of my students again,” said Rommath. “You ought to know better. It is like tempting a pack of wolves with a bloody steak..”

 

“Fine,” Lor’themar said. “Let me up. Please.”

 

Rommath released the prison and Lor’themar pushed himself up with a groan. Despite his earlier protests, he did not seem entirely angry at Rommath. Beside the arcanist, Aethas grinned, relieved to see the conflict over. He stood up suddenly and darted across the yard.

 

“Aethas?” Rommath called after him. Spontaneity was not the boy’s strong suit

 

“Hang on! I gotta show you something we did today!” the boy yelled back as he rummaged around in the weapons shed. Lor’themar chuckled.

 

“I forgot about this,” he said. “At one point during a break today, he started making these for all of us and taught me how to make one.”

 

“They’re dumb,” grumbled Halduron and Kael’thas shoved him.

 

“You’re just saying that because you suck at making them!” Kael’thas spat back, ever defensive of Aethas if he wasn’t the one picking on him. Halduron growled lowly at the prince and lunged at him.

 

“Boys!” Rommath snapped. Halduron and Kael’thas turned towards him, shame faced, as Aethas finally made his way back to Rommath and dumped a literal pile of flowers into his lap. Upon closer inspection, he saw that they were actually loops of flower stems woven together. A flower crown, something he’d taught Aethas how to make on a particularly bad day.

 

He tilted his chin and allowed Aethas to place perhaps the best made one on his head, most likely made by Aethas himself. Small hands combed through his pony tail and looped the mess of hair through the crown. When he looked back up, Lor’themar was staring at him, cheeks slightly pink.

 

“There!” Aethas announced proudly. “We made enough for all of us, including you. But you’re the only one who can wear yours right now since we’re not done being sweaty and gross.”

 

“Thank you, Aethas,” said Rommath softly and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Now, shouldn’t you boys be getting back to training? I believe you promised to show me all the Lor’themar had taught you so far.”

 

The boys scrambled to their feet in excitement, leaving Lor’themar on the ground. He looked slightly stunned.

 

“Lor’themar?” prodded Rommath. The ranger shook himself and pushed himself up.

 

“Yes, right,” he said. The tone in his voice suggested that his distracted state remained, but he ushered the boys back out onto the training field.

 

Rommath watched with half attention as the boys went through their forms. They were nowhere near greatness, but the foundation would get them there someday. Already, he thought wryly, their aim with a bow was better already than his. Of course it was, though: he was a mage first and foremost, and a farm boy after that. The other half of his mind pondered Lor’themar’s distracted state.

 

The sun flagged in the sky above them until it held itself in the odd state just before sunset. Lor’themar ran the boys through cooling down and putting away their practice weapons as Rommath stood and smoothed his robes. He drew out the runes for a stable portal to the Brightwing estate with Lor’themar suddenly joined him.

 

“Might I...speak with you, for a moment, when we return to the palace?” the ranger asked quietly. Rommath peered at him from the corner of his eyes but Lor’themar’s focus seemed to be on the boys still.

 

“I suppose,” Rommath finally said. Perhaps Lor’themar intended to explain his intended behavior of the afternoon.

 

Dropping off the boys went as usual. Halduron peeled off at first opportunity, stomach ever upset by teleportation magic. Aethas (happily) and Kael’thas (not so happily) were turned over to their tutors, leaving the two older elves side by side. When they were left alone at last, Lor’themar’s hand circled lightly around his wrist and Rommath allowed himself to be tugged through the numerous hallways of the palace until, at last, Lor’themar seemed to find a suitable place to ‘talk’ to him.

 

Rommath let Lor’themar push him back slightly against a wall. He suspected that the choice of corridor was deliberate on Lor’themar’s part; no one would stumble across them here. The ranger caged him in as he cradled Rommath’s face in his hands and ran the tips of his fingers lightly down the side of his neck. Thankfully, the glamor obscuring the burn scars held through the shiver that wracked through his body at Lor’themar’s touch.

 

“This is ‘talking’ to me?” Rommath asked breathily, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

 

“You have to be taunting me,” Lor’themar murmured. His eyes studied Rommath’s features with such intense focus that the mage found it hard to draw breath under it.

 

“I promise you, I’m doing no such thing,” said Rommath. His hands fell to Lor’themar’s chest to push him away, but the strength behind them faded when Lor’themar’s thumbs found their way back to his face to trace his cheek bones.

 

“You have to be the most oblivious man I’ve met then,” said Lor’themar and his face was close, too close. Rommath could feel the ranger’s breath on his lips. “When Aethas placed that crown of flowers upon your head, I could not look away. You were ephemeral in that moment, like a god of the autumn harvest.”

 

The words took a moment to sink in, a fraction shorter than the time it would have taken Lor’themar to lean in and kiss him, had he allowed it. Instead, his hands shoved against Lor’themar’s chest harshly and bared his fangs at the ranger.

 

“I knew it!” he snarled. Lor’themar looked startled at the sudden change in his demeanor, but Rommath could not bring himself to care. Probably, the ranger found it incomprehensible that Rommath had figured out his ruse. He was not the first to do this; the elves of Anasterian’s court seemed to particularly delight in tormenting him in such a way, if only so they could say they did the ‘poor farmhand of Anasterian’ a favor by bedding him.

 

“Did you really think I was so stupid to not figure out what game you play?”  Rommath continued to yell, his voice becoming shrill with indignity. “Many before you have tried to do this to me, and I won’t let it happen again!”

 

“Rommath, wait!”

 

Lor’themar reached out for him, but it was too late. Rommath already activated the hastily-drawn teleportation runes, yanking him out of the hallway with the ranger and putting him back in his own private quarters. Rage flared up in his chest and he exhaled literal flames as he huffed out a harsh breath, trying to rein back in his hanger before he scorched what little he had in his quarters to ashes. The flame licked the edges of his collar harmlessly; he’d learned long ago to ward his clothing against the primal element that made up the majority of his magic.

 

He had won. He had won the game this time, before they were able to get to him again. Still, there was a sharp ache in his chest, sharp as a knife, and it made Rommath wonder if he truly had won. Lor’themar had been somewhat of a friend; his flirtations had been harmless, until they weren’t.

 

Rommath sighed and collapsed into the chair by his small desk.

 

This victory, though well deserved, was bittersweet.


End file.
